The Café
by IceCream4Breakfast
Summary: House just might find love when he least expect it. *Set around Season 2*
1. Chapter 1

There he is. I've been waiting for him.

It has become something of a routine for me. I wake up, take a quick shower, grab my purse and come here to wait for him. He doesn't come by everyday, but I do, just in the hopes to see him. Everyday when I wake up, I think "_today could be the day_" and get up from bed with a spring in my step.

Oh, my poor reader, you must be so confused. Let me explain.

My name is Amelia. I guess it's safe to say you don't know me. I'm new around here. I'm your average 29 year old girl. Well, a bit on the short side... and maybe not as thin either.

I'm a writer. To some people that's code for unemployed lazyass person. That's not true. I do work. A lot. I just haven't had my breakthrough romance published yet... or written. You see, I'm going through a very bad writer's block at the moment. Sometimes I worry I'm just a bad writer. Or maybe I'm just an unemployed lazyass.

I earn my living *_ha_* as a freelance writer. You know, I write articles for money. It's not the ideal but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Oh yes, you must be asking yourself who's the man I was blabbing about earlier (I'm sorry, I tend to get sidetracked). I don't know his name. Or what he does for a living. All I know is he has the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. When I saw them for the first time I was a goner. And I don't even like blue eyes! Also, the man is very tall. I'd say about a foot taller than me. I'm 5'2", so he should be around 6'2" maybe 6'3".

I remember the first time I saw him. I had just moved here and found this cozy little café not a block away from my apartment. I just had to enter. I'm a writer, I love cafés. I ordered some chocolate, grabbed my ever present little notebook and started writing. Nothing important, just some ideas.

I don't know how much time passed, since I tend to get lost in my own little world when I'm writing, (and when I'm not writing) but next thing I know I'm hearing this wonderful gruff voice asking for a coffee. I just had to look at the owner of said voice.

I started my perusal at his feet. They were clad in trainers. Going up, I saw long legs in blue jeans. Oh, a man after my own heart. Higher still, and I saw the cutest little butt ever! Have mercy! I also noticed a cane, but thought it was for fashion purposes only, because I could not see anything wrong with him thus far.

My eyes then landed on his hands. His beautiful, strong, big hands. I love hands! And as my little eyes went higher, things only seemed to get better. He had some graphic tshirt under a leather motorcycle *_gasp_* jacket. Helmet hanging from the crook of his arm.

I must tell you something - little nerdy, painfully shy, chubby, glasses wearing me just can't resist a gruffy motorcycle man. Yep, there goes my pristine image.

So, up his broad chest and shoulders I went. Oh, beauuuuuutiful neck! Facial hair! *internal squeak* He had a stubble. Thin lips, masculine nose and... the most incredible blue eyes I'd ever seen! Blue eyes that were staring right into my hazel ones.

Yes, he caught me staring. *_Oops_* And he was looking right at me. Scratch that. He was **glaring** at me. Uh oh.

He didn't say a word. He just glared at me. Then turned away, effectively ignoring me. I just used that time to look at his hair (how pathetic am I?). Nice brown hair with some white in it. I remember thinking he must be in his early 40s. Too soon, he had his coffee in hand and was leaving... with a limp. Well, that explained the cane.

And I was left staring after his ridiculously yummy butt.

After that, I only saw him a handful of times. He didn't see me though. I got the impression he didn't like me (he caught me ogling him, guess he might have a point) so I've been sitting in the back of the café, trying to be as much a part of the décor as I possibly can. Whenever I come to this little café, waiting and hoping to see him, I feel like a stalker, so I might as well act like one. At least in the café.

And once again, he's here. My heart soars and butterflies play in my stomach.

I take a deep breath and let out a sigh, getting the bittersweet sensation of being in love with someone I don't really know.

But in the end, can we really know someone when we love them?


	2. Chapter 2

There she is. As I knew she would be.

Always in the back, the little mouse. Except for the first time I saw her. I guess she's trying to be incognito. Not that it's working.

It's hard for someone not to notice her. Not that there's anything wrong with her. There's nothing special either. But for some reason, she's just hard to ignore.

I remember when I saw her for the first time. I was having a bad day and I thought maybe a bike ride would help me relax. On my way back home, I decided to stop at this small café close to my place. After ordering some coffee, I felt like I was being observed. So I looked around to see whose eyes were burning me.

That's when I saw a young woman. Light brown hair and peaches and cream skin. (What the hell is wrong with me? Did I just describe the woman's skin colour as "peaches and cream"?) Her heart-shaped face in full display, I could see she was wearing glasses, which were perched on her button nose. (Am I a poet or what?) The glasses were too big for her face, but for some reason it just seemed right for her. And then her eyes met mine. Beautiful hazel green eyes! Intelligent eyes. And then she looked away! Why? I know she was checking me out. Well, she must be shy. Since I didn't want to make her uncomfortable, I turned away from her. Soon I had my coffee and left.

She's been on my mind since then. Her softness. Everything about her looks just so soft. Her face, her hair, her skin... I bet if I hugged her she would feel soft against me (where did that come from?) She's not skinny like the women I'm used to have around me. No angles, just curves. Maybe a size 14. Not what I'm used to at all. I would even go as far as to say she's not my type, but there's something about her... I just keep imagining what it would feel like to rest all my angles and aches against her softness; I can't help myself. For some reason, thinking about it eases my pain. And I'm tired of pain.

So I've been coming to this café whenever I can. Just to see her. Just to look at her, writing on her little notebook.

I dare not speak to her. I'm loneliness, darkness and pain. No one should associate with that. Not to mention she looks awfully young. She's so out of my league!

What would someone like her, so soft and young, want with an old, damaged man like me?

So, with a heavy heart, I leave. Without saying a word to her. Again.


	3. Chapter 3

Ouch. I'm in pain. I guess the gash in my knee would explain it.

You see, I was riding my bicycle when out of nowhere comes this car. I got out of its way, but I fell. It would all be well if my knee didn't land right on a pebble. A very sharp, pointy pebble. The little bastard is still lodged in my knee.

A nice lady, who saw the fall, gave me a ride to the hospital, since the nice person driving the car that caused all this to happen didn't stop, of course. The lady dropped me off at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

So, right now I'm at this free clinic waiting to be fixed. I wasn't sure if I should go to the ER or clinic, but then I thought - "Well, I'm not dying or anything, it's only a cut. It's not really an emergency." I was wrong. It IS an emergency. My knee hurts like a bitch! And I've been waiting for almost an hour.

Thankfully, I'm wearing a midi skirt, so it covers my knees. I don't know if I would be able to keep calm feeling that much pain AND seeing the wound.

I'm starting to feel a bit light-headed. Oh please, won't some doctor just call my name and fix me already?


End file.
